


Escape

by Seraphyne13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon - Freeform, gobblepot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphyne13/pseuds/Seraphyne13
Summary: Oswald is confused as he's rescued by GCPD detective Jim Gordon, but why? What has happened? Why is Oswald in Arkham again anyway? I suck at summaries.





	1. Chapter 1

The blackness is all encompassing. There are no memories to think about, no dreams to recall, just utter blackness... and warmth. Terribly hot and warm and scalding, but no pain. No pain. No pain... It ricochets around his head for a long time. The minutes tick by, or maybe hours? Oswald isn’t sure, time is relative and he can’t concentrate except on the black void that is his mind and... the heat, luxurious heat that goes bone deep and keeps him pain free. He’s in love with this feeling and wants it to last for-

_CRACK!_ The harsh stinging pain that flows through the blackness and anchors his face onto his body reminds him of where he is and panic sets in. There’s warbled sounds that make no sense to him and he’s trying to focus enough to swim through the black void. The panic flutters his heart beat faster which sends adrenaline through his veins and that more than anything helps clear the fog.

“Oswald! Wake up!” Another sharp pain laces across his cheek and finally his heavy eyelids flutter open for a second. Confusion setting in as he tries to focus on the blurry face before him. The voice sounds so familiar, a faint smile plays across his thin pale lips as he muscle-remembers the figure. His oh so heavy eyelids slip back closed and oblivion beckons once again. “OSWALD!” He cries out with the sharp pain on his cheek this time. Eyes fully wide and open now. Focusing on the blonde figure before him, Oswald frowns.

“Det- Detective... Wha- where?” He looks around at the room they’re in, all stark whites and stainless steel. The heat he’d experienced in his.. what sleep? Coma? He didn’t know where he’d been, but the warmth had been real. He’s in this tub of sorts, covered up to his neck in what appears to be black sand. The heat radiating from the stuff is so soothing and warm, Oswald’s eyes flutter shut once again, but he remembers the slaps on the face from Jim Gordon and pops them open quickly. “Don’t hit me again, I’m aware Detective.”

“I don’t know what that is you’re in, but we need to get you out of here. Can you walk?” It’s a simple question, but the shorter man isn’t sure. He can’t feel anything but the heat. Even when he moves his arms there’s no sensation that they’re moving. Oswald watches as Gordon walks around the room searching for whatever. He notes that the detective looks more like an Arkham orderly then his usual gruff tough-guy appearance. Oswald’s thoughts are still jumbled. He doesn’t remember why he’s in this room or the tub not to mention, if this is Arkham, why he was in Arkham again.

“I honestly do not know Detective.”

“Jim, just call me Jim, Oswald.”

“I will try, Jim.” Moving with intent, Oswald manages to grab the rim of the overly big tub and pull himself to the edge. His chest clears the substance that looks like black sand and he notes that he’s not wearing a shirt nor his corset or a brace of any kind. He frowns, concerned. “Uh, Jim... Do- do you see my clothes?” A heat that has nothing to do with what’s in the tub creeps around his cheeks and nose. He’s embarrassed because he’s pretty sure he’s naked and, well no one had seen just how bad his ailment was. He remembers the little boy Oswald who had to look at people’s chests instead of their faces because of the curve of his spine.

“What?” Oswald looks at Jim, who’s searching the room.

“Clothes, do you see clothes of any kind?” He asks as he pulls himself fully from the tub. The searing cold of the air in the room verses the coursing heat that had been engulfing him quickly reverts as he climbs up and over the edge of the tub. Wobbly feet finding cold hard tile as he tries to stand. He nearly falls, unstable legs, a back that hadn’t curved in, what? Twenty years? The pain was going to be excruciating.

“No clothes, Oswald, just these flimsy hospital gowns where your ass hangs out.” Oswald tries to straighten as Jim nears, heat flooding his face even more as he faces more towards the tub trying to shield his nakedness from the blonde detective. “Here, if you put on two then nothing will be hanging out.” Oswald’s green eyes look into Jim’s blue ones to see if the taller man was making fun of him, but the smile seemed genuine as he takes the flimsy material from Jim. “Hurry, we need to go. We only have minutes until they find the Orderly I knocked out to steal these clothes from.”

Awkwardly Oswald dresses in the hospital gowns tying one in front and one in back. Feeling better by just being covered. The curve of his spine is not as severe as when he was nine years old, so he’s still able to look Jim in the eye, but the curve is still noticeable. He braces himself for that first step, remembering that it was a soul-tearing knife cut with each step he had taken, holding his breath and he’s still not prepared. He thinks the pain must have made him black out for a second because the next thing he knows he’s on the floor and Jim has his arms around his shoulders.

“Oswald? What the hell did they do to you? You can’t walk can you?” Jim’s gruff voice full of concern which only embarrasses Oswald even more.

“Don’t worry Det- Jim, I can. I can manage.” He hates that he needs Jim’s help to get back to his feet. He notices that Jim pauses to look at him. “What? Where do we go- which way?” Jim shakes his head and frowns.

“Uh, thi- this way.” He says heading to the door at the back of the room. “Seriously Oswald, what did they do to you? Your foot- you’re.. You’re not standing-” Jim stops, Oswald sees a faint, the barest hint really, reddening Jim’s cheeks.

“Nothing Jim, or at least I don’t remember...” The green eyed man trails off, eyes dropping as he holds out is arms. “This is me... How I always am when I’m not... When I have no-” Damn it, why was literally being naked to the detective so damn hard. “When I am not wearing a cors- brace that helps with- with my condition...” His cheeks burn realizing that Jim Gordon was the first person to ever know about this side of Oswald. He starts walking towards the door, faster with no limp, but paying the price with every step. He notices also with every step it’s like the years of brace therapy is reversing. His back screaming at him. He cannot keep the pain off his face, but thankfully Jim doesn’t say anything as he catches up to Oswald.

“Find him! I know he’s here for Cobblepot!” The shout is plainly heard through the door and the two men look at each other knowing that they’re heading to this room to check on Oswald.

“We have to go.” Jim says, eyes wide as he looks at Oswald. The detective’s hand grasps Oswald’s upper arm as he kicks the door open and ushers the smaller man through. They close the door just in time to hear the other door unlock and open.

“Shit! Doctor Strange is going to be pissed! FIND HIM!” Oswald and Jim do not linger to hear the rest, they race towards a stairwell and Jim lets Oswald’s arm go as he opens the door.

“Go.” Oswald doesn’t hesitate, but he does mentally curse, he hated stairs.

“Up or down, Jim?” He asks as Jim grabs an errant pipe to bar the door with. Oswald muses that they must be in a part of the hospital where patients do not wonder around, otherwise why would there be a convenient pipe like that lying in a stairwell.

“Up.” Again, Jim takes Oswald’s upper arm to what? Steady him? Lead him? Make sure he doesn’t wander off? Oswald isn’t sure, but with the pain in his back, he’s not complaining. Going up the stairs is slowing them down what with the jarring pain that’s clearly etched across the smaller man’s face. Oswald can see the concern on the detective’s face with the heavy set of his brows. After the third landing the green-eyed man’s hope of no more stairs wains as does his stamina and endurance. He sinks to his knees, panting, his back screaming. “Oswald?” Jim makes his name into a question, kneeling down beside him. “We have to keep going.”

Oswald nods his head, “I... know...” He says between breaths. “Give... me... a second.” Jim’s expression reads understanding but Oswald can feel the tension and urgency in the set of the detective’s shoulders. He surges to his feet, adrenaline helping him, but for how much longer? He hates feeling weak, he hates his condition, and he most assuredly hates that Jim is seeing it. “Let’s g-” His words are cut off as Jim Gordon does an undignified thing and scoops his arms under Oswald’s legs and picks him up. The ex-mob boss has no choice but to hold on, arms wrapping around Gordon’s neck. “Detective! Please, this is unnecc-”

“Hush, we have to hurry and you’re in pain, I can see it.” Jim states gruffly, his eyes glancing up to look into Oswald’s eyes. The smaller man’s breath hitches with how serious Gordon’s expression is and... how close their faces are. Oswald looks down, yet again embarrassed. He doesn’t say a word as the detective easily lopes up two more flights of stairs and they finally exit the stairwell. He’s ready to be put back on his feet, but Jim doesn’t stop at the door.

“Detective, you can put me down now. I feel I can walk.” Oswald says, but Jim ignores him as they hear more shouts in the distance. “Cameras.” Green eyes looking into the corner of the hallway they’re in.

“Yep, they’re tracking us now. Gotta find that...” Jim trails off as he’s checking door knob after door knob along the hall. A door just up ahead opens. “Ah ha!” Jim exclaims as they make their way towards. Jim ducks behind the door as an Orderly slips out. The door goes to swing shut, but Oswald reaches out and grabs it. He glances at Jim, who’s also looking at him, that half smile that always seemed so out of place on the detective’s face playing across his lips. Smiles were rare things for Jim Gordon, or so Oswald thought, trying to remember the last time he’d seen the man smile.

They slip through the door and Oswald smiles looking around. “I know this place. Put me down Jim. Thank you.” His mind isn’t on the detective at that moment. This was the room that held all the personal effects of the inmates of Arkham, so Oswald’s clothes were in here, but which locker?

“What is this place? There’s no exit. Oswald we need to go.” Oswald is looking at the locker numbers trying to trick his memory into cooperating with him.

“My clothes Jim, they’re here. I am of no use to you or us in my... present condition.” Oswald admits as he turns to look at the handsome blonde man. When had he noticed that Gordon was attractive? So not the time to contemplate changes... He breaks eye contact with the blue eyed man and starts searching the lockers again. What he does remember was his first stay in Arkham. Did they use the same lockers? Would they have assigned him a new locker? This was his best bet. “Yes!” His clothes neatly folded with the corset on top just like last time.

Did he lose time? Was he dreaming that he had been released from Arkham? Did everything that had happened in the last few years not happen? Had he been in a drug-hazed hallucination this whole time and Gordon was just now getting him out? Had the whole Edward Nygma thing been in his head? With shaking hands, he pulls his clothes out of the locker and tries to ignore that Jim Gordon was there to see him dress. He slides the corset around himself and laces it tightly, pulling the cinches into place that allows his back a rest and brings back his limp; his thoughts going to his mother. Was she still alive? Suddenly he needs to know if he’s crazy. He grabs his slacks and pulls them on too much in a hurry to zip and fasten his pants before turning towards Gordon, who’s bright blue eyes are glued to the smaller man’s frame.

“Jim..” His name doesn’t grab his attention. Oswald’s cheeks flame bright red in embarrassment. “Gordon!” Finally the blue eyes find his green ones. “I’m having a crazy moment... Is Galavan...?” Jim’s expression changes as his eyes flicker downward before coming back to Oswald’s face.

“Galavan’s dead. You shot him with a grenade launcher, remember?” Concern seeps into Jim’s face, but Oswald has no time to think about that as all the terrible shitty things that has happened come rushing back to him. He’s trying not to let the emotion get to him, but it’s been a very trying few hours.

“Right, Jim. Of course.” He turns his back to the detective realizing that he still was not fully dressed. Fingers fumbling at the zip of his pants. Jim clears his throat awkwardly.

“Ar- are you alright?” Jim’s voice is closer then keeping watch at the door as he had been. If Jim shows sympathy or worse, pity, then Oswald was likely to break. He could’t stand for the detective to see everything all at once. He fears that he’s lost Jim Gordon as a friend after this. Horrible thoughts lead to more horrible thoughts as his emotions over what happened with Nygma surfaces. He shrugs it off, angrily wiping at his eyes. He hated tears. If he could surgically remove them, he would.

“Fuck!” He exclaims, disbelief that his slacks were getting the best of him. He flinches when he feels a hand on his bare shoulder. Seriously never in a million years would he suspect James Gordon touching him for any reason other than to hit him; although that hadn’t happened in a long time. He finally succeeds in zipping his pants and securing the button. An arm reaches around and grabs his black dress shirt.

“Oswald, I don’t know what they did to you in here or why... But I’m guessing that the last few minutes have been pretty traumatic for you.” Oswald turns as Jim holds open his shirt for him. The smaller man accepts his help with the shirt, shrugging into it. He doesn’t answer Gordon because he doesn’t know what to say. Jim clears his throat as he stands there in front of him. Oswald’s numb fingers again fumble this time with the buttons on his shirt. Jim’s fingers nimbly help with that. Green eyes following the movements, trying to push all the grief aside. Thin lips frown as Jim’s fingers pause at the last button that would completely cover the corset that Oswald was wearing.

Glancing up, the smaller man studies Gordon’s face, unable to identify the expression. “Detective?” Jim’s eyes glance up and then quickly back down.

“This,” He moves his fingers only slightly to touch the top of the corset which stops right beneath Oswald’s breast. “This is why you limp? Why your leg...” Oswald sighs.

“Yes. It’s a cors- brace. I’ve always worn it, since I was little. The back pain is... unbearable, much more so than the dull ache in my hip that I get from wearing the brace.” Quickly Jim finishes buttoning the shirt, knuckles playing lightly over the bare skin around his collar bone before the detective puts distance between them. “So why am I back in Arkham? I have no memory of what has happened.”

“We can talk later, Oswald, we need to get out of here. Cat- Selena is waiting for us through one of these doors and I forgot which one. I thought it was this one,” Jim says while watching out the small window on the door. “but, it’s not. Come on.” The blonde holds out a hand, palm up. It’s an invite to take his hand, but the smaller man suspects that that’s not the gesture Jim meant to make towards him.

“Lead the way, Jim.” He says limping over to the door, but ignoring the hand that’s offered. He feels like it could be a trap and yet he doesn’t know why. This is good guy James Gordon. He’s been up and down so many paths since arriving in Gotham, but he’s been able to keep the good within him. But no kindness has ever been rewarded for Oswald. Especially after what happened with Nygma. Gordon glances at the green eyed man before opening the door, making a show of dropping his hand that he’d offered. If it was a sincere gesture then Gordon could get over the fact that Oswald had rejected it.

They slip out of the door and move as fast as Oswald’s limp would allow. Thankfully as they turn the corner they see a hand stick out from behind a door with a familiar fingerless glove covering it. They spur on some extra speed, a feat in and of itself for Oswald and they gain the door right before Orderlies see them. Selena locks the door behind them and Jim manhandles several pieces of furniture in front of the locked door.

“We needed at least one of those desks to reach the vent Gordon.” Selena says eyeing the vent ten feet above their heads.

“Shit.” Jim says eyeing what was left in the room. Oswald’s wondering how he was going to navigate through air conditioning ducts without anyone hearing him. There were only so many times during the day that you are reminded that you hate your life before it starts sounding like your mantra instead of just an inconvenience. “Hey, I can use this,” He starts pulling a filing cabinet over to the spot under the exposed grate. “and I can boost you two up. Lead the way Selena. Oswald will follow and I’ll bring up the rear. Do you have my gun?”

“Yup.” Selena pulls out Jim’s gun from the close, almost invisible backpack she had strapped to her. Gordon sticks the gun in the waistband of the orderly scrubs he’s wearing, then climbs up onto the top of the filing cabinet which is barely wide enough to hold one person, much less two. Using a desk chair, Selena joins Jim on top of the cabinet. Oswald watches as he picks up the lithe teenager, putting his arms around her thighs, lifting her up and well within reach of the grate. She makes quick work of unlatching it and then swings free of Jim’s arms to scamper up into the pipe. The small man is shaking his head, thin lips parted in confusion.

Jim looks down and yet again, holds out his hand for Oswald to take. “You’re turn, Oswald.” Surprised green eyes look into the Detective’s blue ones in disbelief.

“Jim, I can’t do that. I- I can’t do what she just did.” Gordon shakes his head, that small half smile showing back up. Oswald has the suspicion that he’s being made fun of now.

“Nonsense. Take my hand.” The blonde man sounds so sure of himself. Oswald places his cold hand into Jim’s very warm one. He’s almost thrown off guard as Gordon pulls. He quickly places his twisted foot on the desk chair and climbs up. It was true, barely any extra room for them both on top of that filing cabinet, but Jim has his arms wrapped around Oswald’s waist to keep him in place. “Ok, hold still.” The detective bends down at the knees and slides his arms down and around Oswald’s thighs. The same maneuver he used on Selena. The smaller man’s hands are on Jim’s shoulders to steady himself and to keep him from falling, them both from falling. There’s a loud bang on the door behind them and it startles them both. Teetering just a bit, Oswald lowers himself to grasp better onto Gordon’s shoulders.

“Shit!” Oswald says trying to keep them from falling, his heart thumping in his chest, never admitting out loud just how much that had frightened him.

“Indeed,” Jim says, pretty close to Oswald’s ear. That too startles the already jittery ex-mob boss. “Ok, we gotta hurry, stand back up. Ready?” Oswald does what Gordon asks.

“Ready, Jim.” But he so was not ready for that lift. He cries out, cursing himself for being such a baby. Selena’s hands are dangling in his face as he looks up and he let’s go of Jim’s collar to grab her hands. Thankful that she was strong as well as lithe, she helps him up and into the pipe.

“CLEAR!” Selena yells as Oswald catches his breath leaning against the pipe well away from the edge. There’s a loud crash as Jim’s hands appear on the ledge of the pipe.

“No way, but up and out now.” Jim grunts as he pulls himself up. “That was the filing cabinet falling.” He chuckles with a funny smile on his lips. Green eyes watch him with wonder. This was a side of Gordon that he was sure no one but intimate friends saw. He turns in the pipe to see if Selena was watching as well, but her backside is swaying ten yards down the pipe.

“Come on! There’s a time-table!” Selena calls behind her.

“Let’s go.” Jim says as he nudges Oswald’s good foot. The smaller man nods and turns to crawl, half-limp after the street cat.


	2. Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing their escape, Oswald gets more and more curious as they go. Selina is calling the shots, but why is Jim Gordon letting her? Where are they going and who has Gotham's panties in a twist?

Pain was not a stranger to Oswald. His condition has been with him since birth. He’s always been small, slight because until he was nine he was not able to walk around too long without his back screaming at him. The brace he always wears helps him quite a lot, but it trades excruciating back pain for a dull ache in his right hip. That pain was constant, like the hum of electricity through wires. Always there. Some days are better than others, but today was on the opposite side of the spectrum and none of the physical activities he’s had to do in order to escape Arkham has helped alleviate any of that pain. His nerves were frayed and he was on edge. Even the fact that it was James Gordon helping didn’t do anything to ease his mind. His memory was a black hole and he hated not knowing what was going on. So it was no surprise that he snaps the next time Jim’s hand touches his shuffling feet because the smaller man cannot crawl as fast as the detective.

“I’m going as fast as I fucking can!” Immediately he regrets saying it, especially since it’s to his rescuer. “I’m sorr-”

“Go!” Is all the blonde says, shouts emanating from below them. Oswald yelling out probably helped the orderlies in locating where they were. Awkwardly green eyes shift back behind himself to glance at the detective, expecting an angry expression or worse disappointment, but there was only understanding staring back from blue eyes. “I know you’re in pain.. If I could make it stop, I would.” The sincerity in his words spurs Oswald on faster. Looking forward again he’s confronted with feet and shins, standing. Selina’s face appears in the opening of the pipe, her errant curls going everywhere.

“There’s enough room for two to stand. We need Gordon to boost us up to the next pipe.” She stands back up, making room for someone else to climb out of the pipe Oswald and Jim are still occupying. The smaller man uses this as an excuse to sit back against the pipe and rest, looking at the blonde detective.

“You heard?” Gordon nods as Oswald makes an _after you_  gesture while flattening against the wall of the pipe as much as he possibly can. The detective’s brows crease in confusion as his blue eyes study the situation. The smaller man cannot stop the small smirk that plays against his lips as Gordon realizes what he needs to do. Surprising that it took the man this long to figure it out. Resting his back and hip, the black haired man was enjoying this small hiccup.

“Hello?! We don’t have all day!” Selina calls down. “Gordon, come on!” Jim grunts in answer as he tries to crawl around the ex-Mayor. This was not going to work, maybe if Oswald was the same size as the cat waiting on them, but he’s not.

“Oswald, lay down on your back. I’ll fit over you. Sideways isn’t going to work.” James says brusquely. The request isn’t unreasonable and it’s a relief if only briefly for him. Flattening out, lying back, arms up so there’s more room on both sides of him. Jim places his hands and knees on either side of Oswald and awkwardly crawls over the slight man. He watches as Jim’s chest passes by his face. Eyes widen as his thinks about what else of Jim’s must pass by this way too. _No! Eyes shut! Close your eyes!_  He does so as the cop’s stomach comes into view, the orderly shirt riding up just a small bit, but he ignores the urge to keep his eyes open the whole time.

Instead of seeing it, now all he has to go on is feel, which turns out to be so much worse. Knowing it’s Gordon’s body, knowing what parts of Gordon’s body it was and where it was touching him; well it created a situation that Oswald would never have thought possible in public. Thank whatever deity was out there that the detective was far past rubbing against the smaller man’s crotch otherwise the blonde would know just what this little exercise had done to the feathered bird.

Concentrating on just his breathing, Oswald keeps his eyes closed for a little longer. He knew he wouldn’t have long to himself and he needed to calm the hell down. Why was this happening now? He’d never thought of Gordon in any manner other than a nice guy, which had changed a bit over the ordeal with… His mother and Galavan… He imagined they had become somewhat partners in crime of sorts. That was until Oswald’s stint in Arkham, the first time, and that Jim had refused to believe him about the torture. That had hurt. There had never been a real friendship, the smaller man wasn’t stupid on that front. Still he had hoped, maybe one day.

“Oswald,” The voice is low, as if volume was a factor now. He also felt a tentative touch on his hand. “Come on, your turn. We have to hurry.” Opening his eyes, he looks towards Jim’s voice and nods at the man. Spurring his bruised and sore body into moving again. Crawling into the open area of the pipe where he could join the detective in standing up, proved undignified and had Oswald far more embarrassed then the unexpected erection. The space turned out way more cramped then the smaller man thought it would be. Pressed fully against the blonde in Arkham scrubs, no space to back away. His face already beet red, the heat only intensifies as he tries to avoid eye contact. _What must Gordon be thinking…_  The problem from earlier not fully gone and threatening to blossom again.

Without a word, the detective squats down in front of Oswald, bringing the man’s face directly in front of his crotch. “Detective?!” But all business as Jim grabs him around his thighs and lifts him up, just as they had done in the room before the pipes. Looking up the smaller, embarrassed man grabs the pipe ledge where Selina’s head is sticking out and again, she helps him up. Doing his best to ignore his pain and the inconvenient situation in his pants, Oswald wastes no time in following the street kid. It doesn’t take long to find the end of the maze of pipes. It dumps them out into a garage of sorts. The penguin’s emergence is less than graceful, and Gordon is there, yet again, to help him to his feet.

“Are you alright?” The concern in his voice and painted across the cop’s face begins to chip away at the suspicion in Oswald’s heart.

“Thank you… And yes, I’m alright.” The smile Gordon flashes for a second only is colored by relief. This was a confusing day and he could not tell what was going on inside the detective’s head.

“Get in! Penguin in the back, Gordon, you’re driving!” The ex-Mayor doesn’t know why the kid is calling the shots, but the detective is following her lead. Lined along the garage wall are a line of Arkham vans, one roars to life as Jim opens the back door. This time when Gordon holds out his hand for the smaller man, he doesn’t hesitate in taking it, allowing the blonde to help him into the back of the van. The doors shut behind him and it’s dark and quiet. Oswald sits down on the bench and contemplates the events of the day. He still could not remember why he was back in Arkham.

He didn’t have fond memories from his first stay, why was this one more pleasant? That tub seemed to be designed for him and his condition, to take the pain away for a blissful sleep. Why had James Gordon felt the need to break him out of Arkham? If he was there again, surely that meant that he _needed_  to be there, right? Too many questions and no answers yet. He sways on the bench with each turn the van takes, but sitting is definitely a reprieve from the constant pain. The vibrations of the van radiating through to his sore muscles. They slow down at one point, but there’s no stopping. He wonders where they are taking him. _Is there anywhere in Gotham that he’s safe?_  He wonders before remembering that he doesn’t know why Gotham is not safe for him… Since the shit that had happened with Nygma, Oswald didn’t have anything. Last he checked, his dad’s estate had been fore-closed on. No job, no money after all.

That jogs some memory of… leaving Gotham behind. He vaguely remembers his survival of Ed’s bullet, waking up in a place… a greenhouse, snow outside… Ivy… A young woman… It’s gone. His memory was less than reliable right now. _Had that been part of his treatment at Arkham? Did they now have something that removes memories? Like permanently?_ He wasn’t sure, but it was a good place to start with the blame. Not paying attention, the van lurches to a sudden stop and he’s tossed onto the floor of the van.

“Fuck…” He grunts, feeling the bruises forming almost immediately on his knees. Using the bench, he regains his feet before the back doors of the van swing open. James holding them. “So where are we?” Oswald asks as he painfully climbs down from the back. Once again, placing his weight fully on his right leg nearly throws him to the ground as it partially buckles beneath him. He couldn’t stifle the cry out as the pain threatens to narrow his field of view. That had almost made him pass out. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in calling the soothing tub a blessing.. Maybe it was a delayed reaction from the therapy? Gordon’s arms are the only reason the smaller man is still on his feet.

“Outside of Gotham. It’s not safe for either of us right now… Nygma has gone crazy.” The first bit of information that Oswald had gotten all day. So it was Ed… Keeping an iron grip on the crippled man’s waist, Jim helps him into the small cottage they’re parked at, woods surround the area on all sides, marred only by the road they’d driven in from. “This was my parent’s place…” Jim offers up, but something seems familiar about the place.

“Selina?” Oswald asks, looking around.

“Still in Gotham, we dropped her off before the hitting the bridge. She’s going to try and talk some sense into Bruce.” He wanted to ask what that meant, but he was relieved to be sitting down on a lush, comfortable brown couch. The decor in the cottage was typical _I hunt and display my kills_  motif. Green eyes alighting to the huge stuffed animal head resting above the fireplace. Then it hits him. Oswald tries to get back to his feet, but his body has finally given up on him. He cannot stand up, try as he might. Blind panic takes over.

“Shit!” He exclaims, Gordon rushing to his side.

“Oswald, what’s wrong?!” He asks, confusion marring his features. All the smaller man sees is the rush in which the detective came at him and his panic escalates. He flails, fists smacking across Jim’s jaw. He’s desperate to get away, convinced James will actually kill him this time.

“I-I can’t die like this! Don’t James, Jim, please don’t! I don’t want to die! I- It’s true, I have nothing left… But I don’t want to die!” Gordon caught the hand that was continuously connecting with his jaw, but Oswald’s flailing was desperate and unpredictable.

“Stop! Oswald! I- I’m not going to kill you!” He’s screaming into the smaller man’s face. Blue eyes seeking understanding, but green eyes are still frantic, the ex-Mayor was not seeing reason. Gordon uses his body weight as leverage. It helped that he was a foot taller and at least seventy-five pounds heavier than the small man. The added weight pushes Oswald further into the cushions of the couch, hugging around his body, limiting his movements more. The detective uses their bodies to pin Oswald’s arms between them. The various pains from his back to his hip has sapped the strength from the smaller man’s legs, but still, Gordon uses a hand to cover his groin and just waits for Oswald to calm down. Eyes searching for reason in those green depths.

Confused by the situation they are currently in, the man who is so used to abuse rather than calm has the time to breath and finally understanding seeps in. A stalemate because Oswald couldn’t move and Jim wasn’t letting him, but reason was now on the smaller man’s side. Green eyes flicker to the stuffed animal head and then to the table he’d sat at so very long ago.

“I’ve been here before.” He states, breathing heavily from the excretion, his eyes finding Jim’s blue ones again. Their faces are pretty close, what with the detective practically lying on top of him. The blonde’s confused frown deepens.

“What?” Swallowing hard, Oswald tries to shift his body, Jim’s hip digging into his sore one. A twinge of pain colors his face.

“Maroni brought me here to kill me.” Immediately James’ brows raise in surprise. The blonde looks around the cottage. “So.. I- I figured you had brought me here to- to actually finish the job Falcone gave you so long ago.” Try as he might, Oswald cannot keep the sorrow and disappointment from coloring his words.

**Author's Note:**

> To Be Continued


End file.
